


A Burn So Sweet

by besosdecanela



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), SanSan - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Game of - Freeform, Game of Thrones - Freeform, GoT, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sandor - Freeform, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, Sansa - Freeform, Sansa Stark - Freeform, Sex, Sexual, Sexual Content, Smut, Smutty, dubcon, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besosdecanela/pseuds/besosdecanela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark has given up, the hell around her carving out her soul. It does not matter to her if she lives or dies. Sandor Clegane has a 'death' to promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey fellow readers. This is an idea that sort of popped into my head today; I don't know really where im going with this yet, but I want to explore it.  
> In this game of thrones AU, Sansa is still in Kings Landing and has been suffering there for a few years. I've labeled this as dub-con also, since the argument can be easily made she is no state of mind to consent.  
> I'm pretty sure this will be both smutty and very angsty, as you will see with this first chapter. Warning to all. Let me know what you think?  
> Thank you~

She sat on her bed, completely bare. Her gorgeous cascade of fiery auburn hair hung behind her, falling on the luxurious soft mattress. 

Her night shift had been laid ready for her by the maids, yet Sansa Stark just sat there, her mind blank. She didn't want to sleep. She couldn't. 

It was late in the night, Kings Landings usual bustling noise down to a soft whisper among the city's lanterns. The Red Keep was silent. 

This was another night. This was another solitary night where Sansa would fill her thoughts with what little still made her smile.

At this point, there was not much.

She had taken her usual bath, dismissing her maids kindly. Sansa knew there was no point in lashing out at them. They weren't the ones to blame. 

It didn't matter now. King Joffrey was away in his chambers, tranquil and at peace. 

As long as she was held prisoner here in this beautiful hell, Sansa would never sleep soundly again.

Her icy blue eyes looked down at her clothes. Some lady she was, naked on her bed, her ivory skin glistening like a gem.  
The worst part was that she did not care.

 

A knock at the door. 

"Open up, Little bird. Got a special dressage for tomorrow's festivities. Orders of the King."

She could ignore him, but Sandor Clegane would just tear down the door. 

Sansa quickly put her nightshirt on and opened the wooden door.

Sandor Clegane barely fit in the doorway. The horrid scarred side of his face was illuminated by the doors lantern, while his other side seemed slightly annoyed like usual. He smelled purely of wine. Typical.

"Take t-"

His words were cut short as his grey eyes grew large at the view before him. The Stark girl was wearing nothing but a shift, her small breasts peaking through the silk. 

Sansa realized her mistake. She grabbed the wrapped parcel and tried closing the door. His massive hand held it open.

"Why in the seven hells would you do this."

It was a statement more than a question.  
His eyes took on a dark turn to them. His arousal was growing uncomfortably. 

She didn't move.

"Why should it matter."  
She stated.  
At seventeen years of age, she was beyond Sandor Cleganes stares. Sansa had suffered enough not to care.

 

"A little bird like you doesn't know shit. You have no idea what you do to a man."

His lips curled in a strange mix of anger and desire. 

"Perchance a man like you should teach me."

He grew silent. 

Suddenly, his armored arms grabbed her small shoulders. The man shook her hard. 

"What is wrong with you...Answer me!?"

Her lips parted, a few tears accumulating on her eyelashes. She knew she was being stupid, yet she wouldn't take anything back.

"I....I just don't care."  
Sansa answered, her voice quivering. She realized this was true. 

Sandor looked upon the Stark princess, her beauty shining in despair. Her cheeks were naturally red, yet they looked pale. She had lost her color long ago with her innocence. 

It was well known throughout the Keep that the Stark girl was still pure, being kept as a prisoner of war during Joffreys reign. She was entertainment, beatings and whippings the regular fun. The Queen, however, had advised the young King to keep the Stark girls purity in tact.  
She was more valuable in that way. 

 

Sandor knew all of this. He was her personal guard and had seen her change. The change started gradually, and now....

He looked upon her, towering above her.  
The warrior was a like a giant compared to the young woman. 

Sandor knew all of this. He had wanted to take her since the moment he laid eyes on her.  
This seemed unreal.  
Wrong, wicked, unreal.

Sansas lips parted in anticipation. She had grown. She was aware of what Sandor felt. 

Sansa was alone. She didn't want to be alone anymore.

He shook her once more, his hands tighter on her frame.  
Her head titled back, the curve of her neck reflecting the dim light. 

Sandor looked behind him, the hallway empty. He opened the wooden door silently and pushed her in. 

He had her by her arm, a firm hold. 

He was a rabid dog that had caught a hint of meat. This was all too much for him.

Sansa looked up to him, the vein in his large neck protruding. His pulse quickened. She could feel it through his grasp. 

In a few breathless moments, Sansa found herself upon her bed. Her nightshirt had fallen off her shoulder, revealing her beautiful clavicle. Bright freckles decorated her chest. 

A lowering of her body. The mattress sunk.  
She blinked and his face was in front of hers.  
His eyes burned her like fire, his breath on her cheek. The smell of wine was heavy, yet, another scent filled the young woman's nostrils. It was the scent of a man.

"You have no idea what you have done, little bird."

He was wrong. 

His lips crashed down on hers, the hairs on his face scratching her soft skin. His lips, however, were so soft. The burn was soft  
to her touch.

Sandor was so close to her small body. He enveloped her completely, his kiss deepening. His large tongue found hers, innocently hiding in her mouth. It twisted and pulled endlessly.

Sansa was numb. She had perhaps made a mistake, signed off to an imminent death. If anyone were to know, the Stark girl would be slaughtered.

As his lips explored hers in hungry anguish, the thought of leaving this place eternally left her strangely at peace. 

Something quite large rubbed against her thigh. It was warm, radiating between her legs. 

Sandor seized her arms and pulled them above her, her petite and gorgeous body open to  
Him.  
Common sense stopped him, however.

"Little bird, we are dead. Did you know?"

He looked at her strangely now.  
She waited.

"I want to die here, then," She whispered into the cold night air. 

Sandor couldn't hold it any longer. His lips found hers again, kissing down softly then quickly down her collarbone. She closed her eyes to the feel of his tongue. 

He was at her ear.  
"Let me help you feel a sweet death."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers!  
> First I wanted to thank all of you for the kudos, comments and for the reads. I really appreciate it; I didn't know anyone would even read this so I'm just really thankful for everything!  
> Here's chapter 2. I really don't know where this is going but I have a few ideas perhaps.  
> A note on this story: Sansa is aged up, and her mental state has been affected quite significantly during the years at the Keep. It doesn't really follow the canon GoT storyline, either. Angsty smut ahead!  
> Again thanks so much! Let me know of any feedback. Chapter 3 coming up soon~

As his rough tongue licked at the soft skin near her ear, Sansa was silent, eyes closed. She thought she should at least be terrified as the Hound was devouring her skin.  
Despite knowing very clearly who was doing such an act, Sansa was not afraid.  
Her once-bright eyes bolted opened: she realized she was enjoying his touch. 

Is this what the handmaidens discussed? The feel of a man? Is this the warmth women looked for?  
Sansa was a woman, far beyond the usual child-bearing age; she should have been wed and happy elsewhere, surrounded by little wolf children of her own. 

And yet, here she was, rotting away high in a tower. 

She wasn't stupid.  
Whatever the Hound would do tonight would be found out soon enough.  
Knowing the thick hate surrounding her everywhere she walked, Sansa would be killed. 

Her rose cheeks flushed as she smiled emptily.  
Then, by Gods, she would enjoy her last night. 

"You have no damn clue..."

His low voice purred in her ear. Sandor lapped and smelled like the dog he was known as.  
One large hand supported his weight, while the other held her hands above the young woman. She smelled of oils and citrus, a sweet wine on its own. 

He wasn't stupid either.

Sandor pulled himself off of her rapidly without another thought. Sansa sensed the sudden emptiness above her. 

She lifted herself up from the bed slowly, her sleeve off of her shoulder. 

He had pulled away, standing a bit from the mattress. 

"I know what you want..."  
He said viciously.  
Sansa was left dumbfounded. 

"But I won't let you kill yourself, girl."

A pain in her chest. She was feeling disappointment, missing the sensation of his tongue on her.  
Sansa was aware of what the Hound wanted; he craved for her for years. Why was he hesitating now? 

The sound of unbuckling harnesses filled the room. The Hound fumbled in the night at his hips, until something heavy was in his hand. There was barely any light but a candle in her quarters, but she could see what he was doing. 

The Hound held his thick cock in his hands, large and erect. He was looking at her greedily, taking in the nymph before him. 

"I would be a fool if I left without a tune, Little Bird."

Sansa eyed him, a mix of sadness and anger inside her.

"Open your legs."  
He commanded her strictly. His lips curled, the burned side of his face twisting with wanting. He breathed heavily. 

Sansa didn't know what she should do; she could ignore this, scream, tell the Keep the Hound had made her do indecent acts. 

Another thought soon followed. 

No one really cared.

She obeyed.  
Her shapely legs opened slightly, the shift revealing the curled red hairs. She looked up at him, waiting for another command. 

"More," his voice rasped. 

Her legs were now completely open, unladylike but without regret. She stared at him without a blink. 

Sandor rubbed the shaft roughly, starting at the large tip. He looked upon her, almost bare to him. He could see her folds through her shift. 

"Take your hand and feel yourself, Little Bird. Slowly."

She had done this before, curiosity getting the better of her throughout the lonely nights. Sansa had known what pleasure was, but never with another. There had been only a few times. 

This was quite different.  
She reddened, a blush flowing throughout her body. Would she dare...?

Sansa was surprised to feel her small hand finding her navel, trailing down past her mound. The bundle of nerves lay like a beacon between her. Her fingers touched it shyly. She found a bit of her own moisture.

"You feel that, girl? Feel that pearl of yours, over and over..." His voice trailed off, as his hand movements became more vigorous. 

She was silent, feeling her wetness over her most sensitive part. Sansa could hear the Hounds breathing becoming uneven.  
Did this satisfy him? Could just looking at her grow such pleasure? 

Her legs were growing tense, the pleasure between her thighs growing. Although it did feel guiltily indulgent, she missed his hand. 

"Gods....look at you. That beautiful little cunt is wet for me, isn't it?"

The harshness of his words weren't false. 

She moved over her folds, as his hand sped faster, running over his large shaft. 

Sansa felt a surge of power. She was making a grown man bend over in ecstasy and he wasn't even inside her. 

This was power.  
A thought occurred to her. 

She stopped moving her hands between her legs, her thighs still open to him.  
Sandor eyed her in the dark; why had she stopped?

Sansa raised her graceful fingers to her shoulders, the sleeves of her night shift falling down beyond her chest. Her breasts peaked in the cold air, revealing themselves to the Hound.

He hadn't stopped moving his hand.  
His grey eyes grew wide as he moved faster, groaning lowly. 

A shining thick liquid appeared in his hand. His panting filled the room. 

His lips were parted. He was silent. Sansa didn't understand the look in his eyes. 

Quickly, he held his belt and armor together and bolted out of the room. The wooden door shut without a sound. 

Sansa was left alone, the candle flickering in and out of her quarters. 

She looked down at her legs, her hands.  
What had she done to him?

The moon was coming out of the sea, low in the horizon. The night was still young; could she even sleep after what had occurred?

Her hands felt the familiar moistness between her thighs.

She stopped before she could continue.

Sansa knew it wouldn't feel the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! I'll respond to them soon!  
> This chapter has a bit more story than smut, but I kind of wanted to flesh out what they were both thinking a bit. I wanted to show a bit of their inner conflict within themselves. But, no worries, next chapter will have quite a lot of smut.  
> Thanks for everything guys! More to come soon~

The main hall was full of the usual spectators and gossipers of the court. Joffrey was busy judging a innocent merchant accused of theft; his screeching voice echoed against the old stained glass windows.  
In the balcony, behind lower ladies and lords, stood Sansa, hidden from view.  
Her auburn hair was loose in the Northern style, her pale yet lovely cerulean gown falling behind her. She was the most beautiful lady in the court, yet invisible to all. 

Three days had passed since that infamous night between the Stark princess and the Hound, the most fearsome of the Kings Guard. It had been on Sansas mind restlessly. 

She saw him now, right beside the King. His golden armor was stained with dents and grazes, yet adding to his fearsome countenance. His dark hair was swept into the right side of his face, his scorched cheek twitching unconsciously. Sansa looked through the taller Ladies to see him, on the tip of her toes.

A few memories drew breath in her mind. She could remember when she first came to Kings Landing; one look from him and she was shaking. 

Rapidly, she looked down, yet not from fear. The blush in her cheeks intensified. What she had done could never be spoken of. 

She glanced at him again, everything else a droning noise.  
A lady such as her had let a man like the Hound push her into her quarters and....  
The rest she couldn't put into words. He had used her.

However, hasn't she used him also?  
Loneliness, touch, death...? She had wanted him to fix everything. 

She smiled absentmindedly. What she had done was foolish, but, with her growing disdain, she did not care much for her past actions.  
The past was just that. 

Everything was moving around her. The Kings session had ended, the court dismissed. The King was the first to leave, the Hound treading right behind the young man.

She kept his eye on him. 

Suddenly, the Hound glanced directly in her direction. 

A flash of conscious thought, a second of eye contact. 

A strike of desire. 

....

The day passed dully. The only thing Sansa saw behind her eyelids were his eyes, dark and pondering. 

Hours passed slowly, away in her quarters. She barely left anymore, except for the few days Joffrey wanted to torture the young woman, physically or mentally. These moments had dwindled, however; Joffrey had grown a bit bored with her, and had decided to keep her locked away for a bit. 

A toss of bread and stew, some sunshine, and air for a few hours. A perfect jail. 

 

It was a moonless night, the clouds hiding the stars. It was beyond midnight. 

Sansa combed her hair on the veranda, something she did regularly. It reminded her of something once sweet and kind. 

A few roses had started to blossom winding around the columns. The young woman had lighted a few candles, dancing on the petals and vines.  
She had grown to prefer a bit of darkness. 

There was silence amongst her. It was uncomfortable. It was suffocating. She couldn't hear the usual bustling noise of the Keep. 

Perhaps she was going mad.

And there it was. A blessing. A knock at the door. One single knock.

She found herself hurrying to the wooden door; she knew who it was, and suddenly, she stopped. 

What would this lead to? Would she let him do whatever he wanted? Should she ignore it, like the Lady she was, or rather, she used to be? 

She breathed deeply; her hands betrayed her thoughts.  
Sansa was a contradiction. 

The door opened, the winding serpentine steps illuminated by the single lantern.  
She did not see anyone immediately, so her slippered feet led her down a few steps.

And there he was, leaning against the stone hallway. Sandor seemed to be hurrying down, in a rush. He wouldn't stay. 

"Sir...what are..."  
Sansas meek voice echoed in the humid air.  
She tried sounding strong but her voice faltered. 

He looked at her with the same direct gaze, his eyes fierce in the night. The Hound sighed, his breath audible. 

He had to leave, before he did anything regrettable. Sandor had made a mistake the other night, and he couldn't repeat again. 

He could get them both to lose their heads. Perhaps he didn't care much for his own, but the girl wouldn't die. He wouldn't have her blood on his hands.

Yet, there she was, her long waving hair behind her like silk. She was wearing a thin dress over her nightshift; Sandor was thankful for that. He didn't know if he could control himself if he saw her bare again. 

"I'm not staying, Little Bird. I came....to tell...."

He looked at her again. Her lips were parted, waiting for him.  
Why had he come? To warn her?  
To curse her once and for all?

Gods, his forsaken body wouldn't listen to his mind. He had to leave, leave her for a while; Sandor couldn't keep a being a damn fool. He was letting a young girl control him, seduce him whether she even understood what that meant. 

A flash of her skin, her inner folds wet for him clear in his mind. 

"Fuck...", he cursed under his breath.  
He stepped closer to her, his head leveled with her chest. 

Sandor stared at her, as intensely as that night.  
"Does your foolish little heart know what you've started?"  
He asked,his voice strangely gentle.  
It was of no use. They were both damned. 

She thought deeply. 

Sansa stepped down, closer.

"I am no fool."

....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys thanks for all the kudos reads and comments! I really appreciate it, readers.   
> Well....as promised. Here's the start of a little smut, accompanied with conflicting feelings and forbidden actions (I really don't even know). I've always wanted to explore an affair with these two.   
> But lmk what you think! Mores to come soon~

His breathing became coarse, aroused by the sudden short distance between them. Sandor stepped closer until he could smell her scent again, spiking his nostrils. 

Gods, he was a fool. He had been trying to convince himself otherwise, trying to save her in the process. 

But deep down in his mind, the Hound knew this couldn't be prevented. The fact that he hadn't tried to touch her in the past four years seemed false.  
But he was an honest man. He had wanted to her; that was clear. He wanted her still, and he would want to her for the rest of his damned life. 

And what of the little bird? Standing with an air of assurance against the humid stone walls, Sansa looked at him as if she finally understood it all.

The young woman had spent all of her childhood looking for a beautiful prince to carry her away to their own paradise. She had wanted someone perfect, someone kind and gentle. 

That didn't exist. She had seen it with Joffrey and the other Knights. They all saw her as meat, ready to be plucked and seasoned.   
The man in armor before her wanted to same. Yet, he had never tried.  
He was frightening, of cruel words and strong demeanor.   
But he had never hurt her. 

Only when she had allowed it had the Hound come into her quarters.   
She had been the puppeteer. The Hound was a puppet. 

But she didn't want to pull the strings. She wanted him to kiss her, to make her feel as if this wasn't real. She wanted to escape, whether it was true or in her mind.   
Sansa wanted to feel like Lady again, with true power. 

She knew they were damned. But perhaps that didn't matter anymore, either.   
She was a woman that needed touch.

"Have you always wanted this...?", Sansa asked quietly, silence around them. She was unafraid. 

He was now on the same stone step as the young woman. Sandor pushed her against the walls soundlessly, a breath escaping her lips. His hands held her curves, bending down to smell her hair. 

"Every day and every night...", he whispered against her hair.   
His voice rasped against her throat.   
But suddenly, he looked back, making sure there were no sounds of intruders. The silence answered. 

He looked down at the gorgeous young woman below him; she was a vision of innocence and beauty.  
She was a Lady; he had to remember that. 

"I won't dirty you, girl. I won't take that precious thing between your legs. That's for a pretty little Lord, just for you."

Sansa felt herself frown, a growing pit of displeasure in her stomach.   
He smirked, the right side of his face tight.

He took her small hips and lifted her up into his arms, taking her by surprise. Sansa placed her arms around his neck, trying to hold on to something sturdy. 

Sandors mouth found her throat.

"That doesn't mean I'll leave you unsatisfied, Little Bird."

His words brought on that familiar excitement yet again. She felt alive. 

He took her into her quarters, shutting the door silently. Sandor knew he couldn't stay long, but he knew what he wanted to do even before this night.   
He would make her scream, wordlessly, into the night.

Sandor placed her gently upon the bed, her nightshift barely holding itself together. 

He bolted the door. 

The Hound returned and looked at her, the familiar beautiful sight like the other night.   
He erection tensed against his breeches. 

Steadily and professionally, he took apart his upper armor. 

Sansa looked upon him with fascination, his muscles revealing themselves. She blushed furiously, eyeing his bulging skin. She noticed the countless scars dancing around his biceps, quite a few on his sculpted stomach. 

Dark hairs decorated his massive chest, leading down to his covered bottoms.   
This was a man, Sansa thought. She had heard women gossiping about such things, but never understood what they meant. Until now. 

She felt another sensation in her stomach, but she didn't know what it was.

Sandor bent to find her mouth, his large hand on her cheek. He kissed her with the desire of a thousand years.   
He deepened the kiss, over her entirely while her neck craned gracefully to meet him. His tongue found hers; he wasn't used to kissing woman in his life, yet Sandor knew what he could do with his tongue. He had plans. 

He grabbed her small shoulders and pushed her down into the mattress, her petite breasts peaking in the air. His lips met her neck again, smelling her. She smelled like a dream. This was a dream.

He kissed the soft skin gently, then roughly. He wouldn't leave any marks here, however. 

His lips met hers again, her lips trying to keep up with his seemingly experienced mouth.   
His muscled arms wrapped her up as if she were merely a lamb, small and needing protection. 

His lips trailed down to her collarbone, lapping at her protruding bone. His other hand took her nightshift and pulled it down, revealing her breasts. 

Sandor eyed them hungrily. 

"I'll make you never want anyone else...", he whispered, the Hound a jealous man. 

He kneaded her left breast in his calloused fingers. The Hound took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on the flesh as if he hadn't eaten anything in days. His lips passed the skin over and over, making the young lady's breath stagger.   
He sucked endlessly, the taste sweeter than wine. 

He took the other breast and devoured it, careful to avoid his teeth on her skin. 

Sansa was being left without breath. Her mind was reeling with more pleasure that she could imagine. 

"S...Sandor..."  
A surge of power. A surge of bravery. 

He obeyed.   
He was before her in seconds, his face inches away from hers.

 

Her hands met his face, touching the scarred cheek with care. She was surprised to find it soft and supple, like new skin. 

"How much have you wanted me?", she asked, honestly. This was an innocent question, not seeping with want or play. Sansa was curious.  
She whispered against his mouth.

This caught him off guard.   
How much does he want his Little Bird? How much has he wanted to be the only man in her arms? How much has his manhood wanted to delve into her? 

How much has he loved her?

Sandor looked down; those were foolish thoughts. He wouldn't ponder that.   
Bugger that, and every feeling inside him. 

His hand found the moisture between her legs, making Sansa buckle slightly. Her lips parted, moaning softly.   
His mouth was leading down, leaving a trail of his saliva down her navel.   
Sandors muscled arms tensed; he grabbed at her slim hips and opened her legs. He could smell her moisture, a pungent smell more wonderful that he could have imagined. He would drink tonight.

He kissed her curled hairs, smelling the centre of her being. 

"This much.", he finally answered, taking her sensitive clit into his mouth and tasting the young she-wolf once and for all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers~  
> Yes it's been a while, and I wanted to apologize for that. But I haven't given up on this story, no worries. College as you know takes up my life during the semester. But I've got some time now :)
> 
> Here's a short chapter but it's me trying to get back into it. More to come!

She did not know much about the acts she was committing. She was not experienced. She was barely a young woman. 

Yet, there was one thing she knew. Sansa was close. 

Close to something, anyway. Her mind was empty.   
All the pain had melted away; she knew it was in the back of her mind, yes. But she wanted to keep living this moment, over and over until it became the only reality she knew. 

The man at her lower half was a man she used to fear, used to turn away from his scarred face.   
And now.

His tongue rubbed and sucked over and over, breathing seemingly unnecessary. Sandor held the slim legs apart gently, his broad back bent lowly. He looked at the young woman below him, her usual cerulean eyes now closed in ecstasy. Her entire beautiful body flushed in crimson.  
The folds were becoming even more wet against his ongoing tongue.   
Everything was what he wanted. Everything was what he needed and yearned for. 

It happened in a second.  
The cluster of noise from the window, a warning perhaps from the outside. 

Sandor stopped his actions. His breath was in his throat.

He was moving like lighting. 

It took a few seconds for Sansa to wake from her dreary state. Her eyes opened slowly, seeing Sandor move deftly above her. 

Panic started rising inside her. Something was wrong. 

His armor was on quickly. The man moved silently, his eyes involuntary avoiding contact with the young woman's. 

"Si-...Sandor...?"  
Her voice was meek, not knowing what she had done for him to stop, to want to leave so suddenly. 

And then she heard it, also. The clutter of armor from down the Keep.   
She did not know if it was coming closer or not, yet her heart was already beating madly. 

Death could come sooner than what she thought. 

But wasn't she comfortable with that?   
Yes. Perhaps she was. 

She glanced at the makeshift knight, buckling his belts and clasps without a word.

Sansa realized it then.   
She could die, but not him. It would not be fair. There was nothing fair in her life.   
Except him. He deserved more. 

He looked at her, finally, after a few moments. He was going to leave her.   
Would he ever return? Would he regret all of this?

He placed his hand on her cheek, cupping it as if it were made of gold. 

"Soon, Little Bird. But not now. You are worth more than sneaking and hiding.   
Aren't I some fool?"

He bent down, her hands reaching out to touch him once again. His lips met hers, a somewhat chaste kiss.  
Sansa could feel tears accumulating on the edge of her eyes.

She was afraid.  
She did not know if he'd truly come again.

He looked at her once more.   
Sandor opened and closed his imperfect mouth, trying to say the words but not knowing how.   
Instead, the man walked steadily to the large wooden door. 

For a second, the warrior halted. Then, in a quick succession, the door was opened and closed, the dark figure disappearing into the night. 

The silent was painful. It was hurting her, Sansa's small chest burning with a strange sensation. 

She was alone. Again. 

Sansa ran towards the window, seeing a few knights below. They had stopped to chat, gathering their coin and discussing the brothels they would explore soon.   
Sandor was no where in sight. 

 

She fell into the bed. It mainly smelled like it usually did, fresh and with a hint of citrus and lavender.   
Yet, there it was. He was there, among the softness and sweetness. She could smell it, as the tears fell silently into the sheets. 

She did not think she would ever be truly happy again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers~  
> It has been quite a while since my last update, and I apologize for that. College does that a lot, but summer vacation is ahead! I'll try updating way more frequently now.   
> Thanks to all the comments and kudos on this fic; really appreciate any feedback. 
> 
> Here's a new chapter; I'm trying to get back into this fic so I might be rusty. More to come tho. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?   
> <3

Three weeks passed painfully. They were slow, like rain falling on a scorching day, waiting for the air to cool slowly. It was more than painful, it made Sansa anxious of every step heard, of every whisper.

Perhaps the Keep had found out about the Hound and the Stark girl, a strange and rather gruesome sight. A rough example of a knight and a hated princess? A jest, a terrible rumor. 

But the weeks passed. Sansa was treated normally, with passing, apathetic glances. The maids brought her meals, a few bored knights stood guard at the bottom of the serpentine steps every night. 

However, no word from Sandor. 

She had seen him, once, guarding the king. He hadn't even looked at her. 

Another day passed for Stark girl, quiet days in her thoughts. The tired, uncaring side of the young woman once again took over. Another day looking out over Kings landing with small interest.

The city seemed slightly more peaceful. Joffrey and his men were visiting Dorne, mostly an attempt of intimidation on his part.   
Sansa was thankful for this. She had some time to breath, and her skin had time to heal.  
Though she was not afraid of him any longer, Sansa much rather not go through another of Joffreys tantrums. 

But heart was heavy. She missed Him. She was truly missing him.

At night, as she thought of the Hound, the air around her became warm. Her skin was prickling in anticipation. But no touch came, no strong, scent of a man filled her nostrils. 

Sansa found her hands crawling toward the inside of her soft thighs. She touched herself, but it was not the same. It felt dull, as if she was trying to fill the emptiness with an inexperienced caress.

She missed him.   
Not just that , her body answered. She longed for him.

Yet, if he died, if he was killed in battle or perhaps, if he disappeared forever ....would she mourn him? Would she shed tears again for the only man who protected her in Kings Landing?  
Sansa did not know if she had many tears left.

She decided to leave some, just for Him. 

...

The night was falling. The Keep was ablaze, mostly because of the Kings return. No one really wanted him to return, but this meant his constant guards could have a gleeful night among the city's streets, doing what they will. 

Sansa had gone to bed, or better put, awake for hours staring at a passing dark cloud or perhaps a flower that grew on the veranda. Her hands were playing absentmindedly with a piece of her nightgown, lace intertwining through her delicate fingers. Her bright eyes danced with the light of the candle on the wooden table. 

The night was warm, but tonight, she felt utterly cold. Would this feeling go away? Or would it get worse, if she saw him again? 

Her beautiful face flinched, a crease in her brow. 

Perhaps she had been wrong, perhaps the small amount of hope that he had given her was a lie.   
Pretty little bird, a pretty, foolish bird.

This was punishment. She had let down her guard, the defense she had built in years. She deserved the disappointment.   
She des-

But there it was. A faint noise at the door. Her eyes found the door, waiting, her lips in a perfect oval. A mere faint clink of armor, there, at the door. 

It was gone quickly, but Sansa had heard it. She was not imagining things, was she?

The young woman ran toward the door, careful not to make any sounds of her own.   
She placed her ear against the wood. Silence.   
A few moments passed. The urge to open the door was too great. 

She unlatched the opening as quietly as she could. 

The serpentine steps were empty.  
The pit in her stomach burned painfully. 

As she closed the door, Sansa caught something on the edge of vision. 

A piece of cloth had been placed down on the first step, seemingly ripped off of a larger dirty mantle or cloak. Sansa took a few steps towards the strange,little object. 

As she looked down upon it, a sense of nostalgia flooded her being.   
It had been carefully shaped into what looked like flower. 

Sansa picked it up with the utmost care. She felt like a child again, dreaming of such gifts of sweetness, of innocence and love. They seemed liked so long ago. 

This was unlike him. This was not like the evil world she lived in. 

Tears brimmed her eyes, as she kissed the little cloth. 

It smelled of Him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all! A big thank you to all the comments; they're all appreciated and keep me going!   
> Heres a new chapter, albeit sort of short. But more is coming!  
>  They are rumors our beloved Hound is returning in this Sundays episode. I'm not going to get my hopes up, but you can be sure I will be checking asap! Lets hope.
> 
> Lmk what you think? <3

The sweat stuck to him like honey; brushing it off was useless. His large hand combed the dark hair out of his eyes, his breathing hoarse. It was his routine, one of the few things he had to do in order to calm his thoughts at night. 

Sandor stood hunched down, catching his breath. The practice hay mannequin was barely recognizable. The tall man had destroyed it in his nightly practice. He usually used his sword but tonight, his calloused hands were sore from training. He lifted himself off from the ground, stretching his back. The skin was hardened with muscle, dark hair decorating his broad chest. The dark patches of hair moved with his skin, tanned with the sun. As he stood in the worn barn, Sandor Clegane looked like the definition of man, a perfect example of strength and power. 

If it weren’t for his scarred face. 

He had thought such considerations before, wondering how it would be to have women look at him like they did the pretty knights, to have women want him. He had wondered how it would be to not be terrifying. Of course, he had grown older, forgetting those stupid meanderings and focusing on what he had become. He was a weapon. A damn good one at that.

It had been enough. Until Sansa Stark.

He walked steadily towards the barrel of water and washed himself clean. Grabbing his cloth, the tall man walked of the barn towards his quarters, thankfully away from the other knight’s housings. He couldn’t stand most of them.

He had a modest space for himself, close to the stables. It had what was necessary: a bed, a place to clean himself, and even a few furnishings. As a knight of Kings Landing, he could have had a much more luxurious housing. Sandor had turned that down, however. He did not want it nor did he need it. 

The man cleaned himself well, making sure to rub the dirt out of his scarred cheek. Many did not know he was such a man, but he despised sleeping in filth. He would not say that, nevertheless. If it helped him look a rabid dog, better for him anyway.

It was late in the night. For Sandor Clegane, it would be long night.

It was foolish to deny the yearning he had, but he could not approach the Keep. He wanted to make sure no one suspected or wondered about himself, or more importantly, Her. Perhaps he was overthinking how secretive they had been, or perhaps he was being paranoid. He knew no one cared much about the Stark girl. Yet, he knew one thing quite certainly: anyone would try to hurt her if given the chance and coin. 

And because of that, he would be careful. Even if it kept him up every night, and (if he could imagine it) the Stark girl grew impatient, all this was worth it. If she wanted to throw away her life, she would have to do it with him dead and in the ground.

But Gods, it was difficult. He laid on his old bed, cloth ripped at the ends. The candlelight illuminated the room, forming shadows on the walls, surrounding him with his thoughts. He hated these pitiful moments. He hated it what it was. 

His hand grabbed at the sheet, a rigid fist. Shutting his eyes was a waste of time. All he could see was Her.

He pulled himself up, pushing close against the wooden headboard. Sandor was almost bare, a pair of thin breeches covering his legs. His chest was naked, breathing in deeply. 

With the tips of his fingers, the man blew out the candle. He wouldn’t need it.

His hands reach for his ache, already half erect. He was a fool, he thought. A few thoughts on the girl and he was already hard. 

Skin on skin. He could see her so clearly, standing near him in the dark. She was bare, with innocence battling desire in her eyes. Her breast peaked in the cold air. And suddenly, a change of scenery. The Stark girl naked in a spring, snow is falling but it does not touch her. She is sprawled wildly on the shallow rocks. 

He rubbed himself harder. He ravished her in his mind, his teeth grazing her skin as she whimpered beneath him. Like their interrupted night so long ago, he can imagine the taste of her again, the look of her in ecstasy he was causing. Her hands were above her, perfect lips opened. He took it upon himself to close them, his tongue taking hers powerfully. She moaned louder, into his scarred ear. By gods, he wished he had more hands. The man wanted to explore her fully, knowing every crease and patch of skin.

He was close, and in his dream, she knew it also. She was small against him, the friction causing her lips to quiver. He enclosed her completely as his arms pulled her even closer. Insatiable, Sandor was a rabid dog indeed. 

His climax was starting, oh so very close. The wooden bed creaked as he took himself harder, painfully sweet. Back and forth from his reality, he thrusted into her once more, as fully as he could. His seed spilled into her, as she moaned so beautifully into the moist air. Her eyes were closed as her lips whispered his name.  
The liquid spilled over his hand, making the man open his eyes into darkness. A pain in his stomach. A strange, painful disappointment.  
The night was silent.

How long could he withstand this?


End file.
